


Together, that's somewhere

by gloss



Series: Alive in Your Life [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, upcycling, worrywarts in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 14:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12961188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Sometimes the world changes and you don't have the words for it but the feeling's just the same.(More plaid. Always.)





	Together, that's somewhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orchis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchis/gifts).



> Happy birthday. This wouldn't exist without you.
> 
> Title from Yo La Tengo, "[Big Day Coming](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WcL4_dX43eY)"

The traces of BB's lube-pocalypse still keep turning up. Sticky spots behind the couch, a chewed-up cap stuck in the radiator, and, worst of all, the shambles of Poe's favorite red plaid blanket.

Finn tries several methods for cleaning the blanket, but all he succeeds in doing is further felting the stained part. Baking soda and vinegar, vinegar and dish detergent, even baby shampoo and a scrub brush: by the time he has given up, his fingertips are peeling down several layers of skin and he has all but destroyed the fabric.

Poe says it's fine but Finn disagrees, on a pretty fundamental level.

*

Statura has brought in a consultant who's doing 360° reviews with everyone in the organization. It's got Poe rattled enough that he's asking too many questions of everyone he meets everywhere he goes. BB-8 is the only one who seems to welcome the opportunity to give Poe feedback.

"Are you happy?" Poe blurts out. They're jockeying for position at the sink, toothbrushes in hand.

Finn gargles and spits. "Don't I seem happy?"

"Yeah, but _are_ you? I dunno, I'm a goof. I get hyper." Off Finn's glance, he corrects himself. "Hyper-er. When I'm psyched, I mean. What do you do? What's it like for you? Am I allowed to ask that? That feels kind of prying, sorry."

He wishes he _knew_ , he wishes he didn't keep talking. He's sure Finn is, but maybe he could be happier? Maybe Poe could be better. At this, at anything.

"You can ask anything you want," Finn says. He stretches out his arms and spreads his fingers. Thinks. "I don't know what I get like. What am I like now?"

Poe holds up his hands and frames Finn. "Chill. Like, calm, I mean, not cold! Warm, too. Steady?"

"There you go, then." Finn takes in the information, lets it spread out and sink down into his thoughts. He dries off his face and hands, then gives the towel to Poe. "That's what I get like."

"Yeah?" Poe sounds doubtful still.

"Yes," Finn says. He smiles as he hipchecks Poe. "First time for everything, right?"

*

"Dry cleaner," Julio tells him when Finn brings the blanket in, finally desperate enough to ask for help. "That's where you should've gone."

"But the chemicals--" Finn stops and shakes his head. "Yeah, I guess I should've. Too late now."

Julio checks the blanket, pinches it between his fingers and squints. "Good amount left over. Save that. Use it again."

He's right that there's about a third of the blanket untouched by the original spill _and_ Finn's inadvertently thorough destruction. That's not enough for a blanket, of course. Maybe a scarf, but the wool's too heavy.

"Huh, maybe," Finn says, though Julio has already moved away. That's all right. They both talk to themselves throughout the day, much to the amusement of the rest of the shop. Julio's old and demented, Louis likes to say, so what's your excuse, kid?

Before he can reconsider -- thinking twice, and then endlessly over again, is probably his worst habit; it's pretty near the top, anyway -- Finn takes the good shears and cuts the damaged part away. He's left with a long rectangular piece, about twice as wide as BB-8 and half again that as long. 

*

Sometimes maybe it might be like Finn makes a point of going back to his apartment. Maybe Poe's just being stupid (probably) or paranoid (hopefully not), but Finn has to know he's welcome to stay all the time, whenever he wants.

At these moments, Poe has to take himself mentally in hand and issue a very important reminder: if Finn leaves, it is not necessarily because he doesn't want to stay. Maybe he has to. Maybe he needs to. Even if he does want to leave, that's more than all right, too. That's normal.

This, this right here, overthinking and secondguessing and finding the merest, flimsiest hints with which to flog himself, is exactly why Poe avoided relationships. That, and prison, and grief. It was a lot of things.

He's gotten better, though. Maybe. He _doesn't_ say, as their kiss slows and starts to break apart, "stay".

He wants to! But instead he says, "see you tomorrow?"

Finn goes back to kissing him, all too briefly, before wrapping his scarf around his neck. "Duh," he says, using the voice of an exasperated teen. He even rolls his eyes. "Of course."

"Cool, all right," Poe replies, leaning against the kitchen island, trying to keep his hands from fidgeting too much.

From his crate, BB snickers out a goodbye when Finn calls to him, then, with a saucy little wink, Finn is going, the door latching shut after him. 

Poe knuckles one eye and gives himself a second before he turns to drying the dishes and getting ready to turn in.

Everyone, not least Poe himself, has a million reasons for doing any one thing. More than a million. He's trying to roll with that fact.

BB woofs a couple times. 

Poe glances over. "Wassup, wolfboy?"

He nearly jumps out of his skin when the door pushes open. Three heavy steps, and then there's Finn wrapping a freezing-cold arm around Poe's waist and yanking him back. "Come outside."

"What're you doing? Where're--" Poe stumbles through too many questions for just one tongue. Finn's tossing Poe's coat at him and BB's out of the crate now, snorting joyfully as he noses at Finn's feet.

"Outside," Finn says, pulling Poe by the hand, BB weaving dangerously around them. He tugs Poe _up_ the stairs, to the emergency exit to the building's roof. BB's nails scritch and slip as he pulls himself up after them. At the top of the stairs, Finn glances back at Poe, two steps down. In the dim red glow of the emergency light, Finn's smile is wider and brighter than ever before. "Come _on_ , man."

There's a secret way to jimmy the latch so the alarm doesn't go off when you open the door. Poe has never, in over two years, succeeded at this trick. Finn, of course, dexterous and confident and amazingly multitalented, managed it on his very first try.

He does it again now, one-handed, then pulls Poe up the last steps and outside into the cold night air.

It's dark at first, but then Poe blinks a couple times. BB goes skidding, Finn squeezes his hand, and Poe realizes the sky is _moving_ , churning and billowing, full of underlit golden agitation.

"Snow!" Finn shouts and BB barks back, agreeing enthusiastically.

"Whoa," Poe says, staring upward, the flakes already coating his face.

The world is different, changing, every centimeter of empty space suddenly revealed, full and dynamic.

Finn hugs him from the side, bouncing a little, tucking his forehead against the lapel of Poe's jacket. "Needed you to see this."  
"Gorgeous," Poe says, lips molding over the curve of Finn's skull, and for once, he doesn't need to elaborate or explain or _anything_.

*

Finn is tidying up his workspace when he uncovers the odd fragment of Poe's blanket. Under the harsh lights, the red wool glows vividly, almost psychedelically. 

The piece is shaped so weirdly, it really does remind him of BB.

That's when he realizes what he needs to do. It's getting colder these days, the sky lowering a little more. Pretty soon it's going to be snowing regularly. BB-8 loves his walks but he's already shivering by the time they finish up. With snow and salt, his amazing new look, courtesy of the groomer, is going to be a distant memory.

Finn's going to make him a coat. 

Poe has complained that nothing fits BB right. "He's too good-looking, see, I think that's his problem. Mere mass-produced goods can't work with him," he says. Finn thinks the more likely culprit is BB's enormous barrel chest, outsized even for a corgi in proportion to his length and height. (Maybe it's also BB's innate charm, you can't disregard that entirely.)

He sketches out the design during lunch. That night, he measures BB while Poe's doing the dishes. BB thinks it's a great new game and keeps turning around, lifting one front paw, then the other, so Finn can wrap the measuring tape around another spot. He nuzzles Finn's ear so thoroughly that Finn falls back on his ass, dizzy and a little hysterical.

"Hey, kids, keep it down," Poe says, crouching down and rubbing BB's flank.

BB barks, high and happy, flopping over so they can both get at his tummy. 

*

The next morning, Finn comes in half an hour early and gets clearance from João to use the machines for more "extracurricular shenanigans". Those are João's words; it makes it sound like Finn's a kid building bongs in wood shop, but he'll take it.

Laid out flat, the coat looks bizarre, like a butterfly only half-emerged from the pupa, widely flared on top, tapering markedly toward the back. 

It's going to work perfectly.

*

"What is this?" Finn asks, pointing at the radio on Julio's desk. The music it blares is frantic and so upbeat.

Julio's concentrating on evaluating Finn's work, however, so he just mumbles something. Finn plans to understand all of the man's subverbal noises by the new year, but he's not there yet.

"The song," Finn adds. "What's it called?"

Julio looks at him over the tops of his bifocals. "You like it?"

He can't, honestly, say 'yes' to that, but he doesn't dislike it, either. He shrugs. "It's really catchy."

It sounds like a polka band playing salsa. Or Laurence Welk collaborating with Chiquita Banana. It's _weird_ and it sounds old-fashioned but bouncy, impossible to resist, all the same.

Julio grins and straightens up slowly. "What do I always say?"

Finn frowns. "Don't forget to clock in? No smoking inside?" When Julio starts to smile, Finn tries again. "This ain't a day-care center?"

Julio usually saves that last one for his daughter whenever she tries to drop the grandkids with him. She always wins, however, and Julio doesn't seem to mind very much at all.

Laughing, Julio bangs his hand on Finn's shoulder. "Good guesses! No, what do I always say at lunch? When you try to refuse?"

"Oh," Finn says. They're getting off-topic, but who is he to point that out? Julio does have a stock comment, every time he or João try to give food to Finn. "It's Spanish, I don't actually know what you're saying. Just that I shouldn't say no."

He asked João once, but the old guy just shrugged. "Spanish something, hell if I know." 

To hear João tell it, Spanish and Portuguese might as well be as different as Mandarin and Ojibwe.

"Exactly," Julio says now, nodding as he retrieves his favorite shears from his back pocket. "This song's Norteño. Same saying. 'Dejate querer'."

"What's it _mean_?"

Julio closes his eyes and sways a little to the music. He taps the shears against his thighs. "Let me love you, let yourself be adored." He opens his eyes and pokes Finn, hard, in the upper arm. "The song's not about you, though! Don't get any ideas!"

Finn doesn't know what to make of any of this. That's not strictly true, actually. He knows that Julio and João want to express care for him and that refusing those expressions is wrong. It's just such an alien way of looking at things, it's going to take him some time to make sense of it. In his experience, that feeling is rare to nonexistent. It strikes him as so generous as to be absurd, almost impossible.

"Sometimes, you give, if you don't have the words," Julio concludes. "Also, fix this seam here, it looks horrible."

And then that evening, as Poe's spooning up second helpings of eggplant casserole, Finn gets it.

Just like that, in a rush and a whoosh, when he sees Poe drop the serving spoon and curse. He'd gripped the edge of the dish without thinking and burned his thumb. Now he's sticking his thumb into his mouth and scowling, and Finn gets it. Poe's glowering, his shoulders pulling up, and Finn becomes aware of this feeling filling him up. He picks up the spoon and sets it back on the table out of corgi reach. Then, taking Poe's wrist, Finn leads him over to the sink to run cold water over his burn.

Tenderness is splitting him open, overfilling him, and it's calm and warm in here, unmistakable.

"Mother _fuck_ ," Poe says again, sagging against Finn for half a moment. "That fucking hurt."

Poe's hair brushes Finn's cheek. He sighs a little when Finn turns off the water and kisses the crown of his head.

"What was that for?" Poe asks as Finn pulls away and heads back to the table.

"You," Finn says, taking his seat again. "Why, do I need a reason?"

Poe squints a little and purses his lips, considering that. His head ticks back and forth. Sometimes Finn thinks every thought the guy has plays out across his face, in shifts and gestures. He kind of envies that intimacy with your own thoughts. "Nah, you don't."

"Okay, cool," Finn says, serving the rest of the casserole with his soup spoon. "Come back, it's getting cold."

"I could warm you up," Poe suggests.

Finn looks him over. "Fuel up, then."

"I will." Poe lifts his chin.

"Good."

"I'll fuel up so hard!" Poe gobbles an oversized bite. "Hard, and long, and, and--"

"Slow down, buddy," Finn says. "You're going to want to choke on something else later."

Poe goes still, eyes widening as he grins, and grins, and there's tomato sauce on his chin, a bit of chickpea skin caught in the corner of his mouth, and he looks delighted and shocked and almost awed, all at once.

 _That_ is what the feeling is. And then some.

*

Finn thought he'd finish the edges with a simple blanket stitch in a contrasting color, but then Julio drops some cordovan leather scraps on Finn's work table. 

"Those should be enough," he says as he ambles away, his bad leg trailing slightly. "Let me know if you need more."

"Thanks," Finn says, turning the leather in his hands. He'll have to miter them to fit around the coat's strange angles, but when he's finished, the thing looks almost professional.

He already liked this job, _a lot_ , but he's never enjoyed it quite so much as he does right now. Not only is there the meditative care of pushing the work through the sewing machine, but the time spent measuring, readjusting, and finally attaching pieces is full and warm, as if potential and promise have volume and temperature. What's to come is companionable, rather than antagonistic; comrade, not nemesis.

*

"What if this is just an, an interlude? Everything's great but something's about to go horribly wrong and I don't know what it is and next thing I know, CRASH!" Poe sits back in the molded plastic chair and lets out the rest of his breath. "That would suck and I don't know what I'd do."

His parole officer finally looks up. "Still employed, Mr. Cameron?"

"Dameron."

"Employed?"

"Yeah. Yes." He sits up straighter.

"Any contact with the police?"

"Not if I can help it!"

She frowns at that and he tries to fix his posture _more_.

"Are you using any controlled substances?"

"Nope."

"Contact with felons?"

This is where he usually makes a joke about the inherent crimes of the rich under capitalism, but he simply shakes his head. "No."

She ticks through several boxes on the form in front of her. "Your next appointment is Tuesday the 18th of next month. Stay the course and don't rock the boat."

"Okay," he says, and as he stands, "thanks, Ms. McClennan. For everything."

She grunts a little before goes. 

What she said is actually pretty great advice, he decides. Stop worrying about what might happen and work more on _being_ where he is.

The state does not pay that woman enough, he's sure of it. She's an _angel_.

*

Finn attaches the step-in harness with extra-strong nylon thread, the kind they use for motor vehicle upholstery and seat belts. He knows firsthand just how hard BB can pull on the leash when he wants to go one way and you want to go the other.

He finishes the harness and its carabiner clips on his lunch break. By then, Julio's watching over Finn's shoulder, occasionally humming, sometimes whistling. 

"What do you think?" Finn asks when he's done. He holds it up, showing it front and back, then hurriedly brushes off some stray threads he'd missed. He doesn't want to need anyone's approval and validation, but on the other hand, Julio's been doing this for over fifty years. The guy knows industrial tailoring.

"Solid," Julio says, squinting as his bifocals slide down his nose. "Very solid."

Finn would beam, if he knew how. As it is, his face is hot and his fingers antsy as he ducks his head and thanks Julio.

The second-to-last test comes when he takes it over to Poe's to pick up BB for their afternoon walk. 

At the apartment, BB inspects the coat with nose and tongue, sucks briefly on the leather corded edge, then looks up at Finn and whuffles. 

"All good?" Finn asks him.

BB turns counter-clockwise several times, snorting and panting, then skids to a stop and yaps. His eyes are as bright as ever; one ear's up, the other's flying behind him. 

"Excellent," Finn says, "let's get you dressed."

BB steps into the halter and licks Finn's cheek when Finn buckles it up and clips on the leash. 

"Let's go see what Papa has to say, okay?"

At Poe's nickname, BB barks and lunges for the door, nails scrabbling down its surface. He's louder than three dogs five times his size. That's cool, Finn's pretty psyched about seeing Poe, too.


End file.
